It's Called The Tango Maureen
by balurinagirl
Summary: RENTfic. Post RENT.... M/M Relationshipping. Read to find out who M and M are. *g* Rated for mild language.


The pounding on the door increased.  
  
Mark flicked a glance to Roger, who was tuning his guitar as if he was deaf to all but the discordant quality of the notes coming from the amp.   
  
"Roger, get that, will you?"  
  
Roger defiantly picked out an off-key version of Musetta's Waltz from Puccini's La Boheme.  
  
"Roger! The door!"  
  
The theme from Star Wars.  
  
"Earth to Roger Davis!"  
  
Inspector Gadget.  
  
"ROGER! GET THE DAMNED DOOR!"  
  
Roger raised his eyes and blinked at Mark, surrounded by his usual array of electronic bits from inside his camera.  
  
"The door?"  
  
"Just answer it."  
  
Roger placed his guitar lovingly on the table beside him, and sauntered over to the door that was almost rattling. Mark glanced down at his camera, picking up his screwdriver again. He heard the swing of the door opening, a pause and then two nearly identical screams, both very girly-sounding.  
  
"What? What's wrong?" Mark asked, sounding alarmed. He wiped at his glasses with the end of his scarf, put his camera down hurriedly and ran over to swing the door all the way open.  
  
"She kissed me!" Roger, exclaimed, eyes wide and his voice an octave higher than usual.  
  
Maureen grinned ruefully. "You always answer the door, Marky. I thought he was you."  
  
"She kissed me with tongue!" Roger muttered, backing away from the door, almost racing back to his guitar and plucking out aberrant rhythms, as if needing to calm himself down.  
  
Mark stared at Maureen, not inviting her in. Yet. He knew he would eventually, he was weak that way. "What's up, Maureen?" the question was casual, and yet he couldn't keep the usual nervousness out of his voice.  
  
"Marky, Pookie, I need to talk to you." Maureen said, and as suddenly as Roger's earlier scream, she jumped up and wrapped her legs around his waist, hugging him tightly. "I've missed you so much!"  
  
Mark flinched, more at the use of her old nickname than her sudden attack upon his person. "I saw you last week, Maureen," he reminded her gently, bracing himself against the doorjamb with one hand. If she didn't get off him soon he was going to fall over.  
  
"Can I come in? I gotta talk to you…" Maureen repeated, lowering her legs back down to the floor.  
  
Mark, smiling, disengaged her arms as well. "Yeah, sure…" he sighed. "C'mon in."  
  
Roger glanced up knowingly, smirked, and went back to his guitar. A string snapped. "Shit!"  
  
Maureen giggled uneasily, and grabbed both of Marks hands. He looked down, confusedly. This was unusual for Maureen. Usually she'd have dumped her entire life story on him by now.  
  
Maureen grinned, pulling Mark over to the opposite side of the loft, as far away from Roger as they could be, and dropped to the floor, crossing her legs under her. Mark could do nothing but join her, and stared at her solemnly for a moment before grinning lopsidedly. "What's wrong?"  
  
"I have something to tell you."  
  
"That's perfectly clear. What is it?"  
  
"I've decided not to be gay anymore."  
  
Mark's jaw dropped. "Excuse me?"  
  
"Pook-Uhm, Joanne and I had another fight, and I thought about it… Besides, it was just a social statement in the first place! You know it's you I really love…" She grabbed the ends of his scarf, as she always had in the past, to pull him in for a kiss.  
  
But Mark was having none of it. He got to his feet. "You're not gay, just like that?" Roger looked over with interest, and he lowered his voice. "I mean, just… randomly?"  
  
"Sure." She grinned. "Why not?"  
  
"This is too much to comprehend…" Mark moaned, leaning against the wall and pulling his scarf tighter around his neck.   
  
"Why, Pookie? You can't tell me that what we had—isn't special to you anymore?"  
  
"It wasn't special to you anymore."  
  
"Of course it was! I was just misguided. Come on, Mark. Listen for once."  
  
Mark stared. "You called me my name."  
  
"Huh?"  
  
"You didn't call me Marky. Or Pookie. You called me Mark."  
  
"I need you to listen to me. I need to tell you something."  
  
"That wasn't your confessional?" Mark sighed, rolling his eyes to look down at her again.  
  
Maureen ignored him. "You've always taken care of me. You were always the only one who could. You talked to me. You filmed me. I was the only one who knew how your camera worked. You knew how to stop bleeding…" She glanced down at the slashed, cruel-looking scars that disfigured her wrists.  
  
Mark gazed down, too, remembering.   
  
"You thought I slept around."  
  
Mark was struck dumb-even more so than he already was. Didn't she? "You did," he whispered, pleadingly.  
  
"I was away from you for a weekend and that's what you thought." Her voice caught, and Mark was horrified.  
  
"No… Mo, don't cry. Please don't. You know how I am around crying girls…" Against his better judgment, he knelt again beside her; not noticing that the guitar had ceased to make any noise and Roger was listening raptly, though disbelievingly, and shaking his head.  
  
"I was at a clinic."  
  
Mark shut his eyes, wanting her to stop. But she continued, relentlessly.  
  
"I was getting an abortion."  
  
Mark's eyes widened, and he reached for her. He couldn't help it. He'd once told Roger that Maureen could kick his frozen frame and then drop dead… He held her in a way she'd always been too proud to let him before.  
  
"You left because I didn't trust you," Mark said it dully, having no idea that the words had left his mouth.  
  
"Maybe." She paused.  
  
"You always took care of me, before, Mark…"  
  
"I'd like to again."  
  
"I love you."  
  
"I love you, too."  
  
A/N: It's so predicatble that Maureen would go running back to Mark. I mean, really! 


End file.
